I Made You My First (13 page)

I
watched his face.
This had to be a joke
, I thought.  “You own a plane?”

“
Of course not, Jurnee, but my dad does. He owns several for his business,” he grinned.

“
Okay, now will you tell me where we’re going?”

He watched my expression
and reached his finger to my nose, lightly touching it.

“No, not yet,”
he smiled.

We boarded the tiniest plane I’
d ever seen and Irish must have known the pilot because they spoke for several minutes while I sat alone in my seat.  When he popped up in the doorway he announced, “The weather’s good and we should be there in about an hour and a half.”

“Be where?” I
mumbled to myself. Within minutes we were in the air. I avoided looking out the window. Irish kept grinning to himself as if he was thoroughly enjoying the fact that I had no idea of our destination.

“I haven’t eaten, have you?”  I
asked hoping to end the smiling session he was enjoying at my expense.

“
No, I did have a box of raisins at midnight,” he said with a chuckle, “but we’ll get something when we arrive, I promise,” and he winked at me.  Before long the plane was jumping up and down on the runway, while I dug my fingers into both of my thighs. Finally it stopped, pulling up to a huge metal hangar. Irish announced, “We’re here,” and within minutes the door opened. 

“
Mr. Thompson, your car is right over there waiting for you and your guest,” the pilot announced.

“
Thanks, Sam, and we’ll see you back here at eleven sharp.” 

“I’ll be here sir,” he said
looking at me.

I wondered if he’d flown a lot of gals in this aircraft.
I smiled at him and gathered my purse to exit the plane. Parked right in front of us was a white limousine with tinted windows. Irish opened the door and I climbed in. I tried my best to look for familiar landmarks to tell where I was, but all I could see were freeways and regular city buildings. Sitting next to Irish, I put my hand on his knee.

He lo
oked at me and smiled sweetly, “This is really wonderful.”

I
smiled back.  I decided then not to ask where we were going.  I’d come this far without knowing, what was it going to hurt for a little longer? We pulled up to what looked like a huge hotel, but when the car finally stopped, I changed my mind. It was more of an apartment or maybe a condo-type building. Irish got out and held the door open for me. I smelled the ocean when I stepped out. Irish walked to the front of the car and spoke to the driver who then drove away. He reached for my hand and we walked to the building’s front doorway.

A man opened the door for us and said
, “Hello, Mr. Thompson,” calling him by name. We walked straight to the elevators and they opened for us. I was actually becoming a little excited.  He reached for my hand and we stood there until Irish realized that he hadn’t pushed the button. He pressed the button next to Millennium Tower, and the elevator began its upward climb. When the doors opened, I followed Irish, still holding his hand.  We came to a door marked twenty-seven. He swiped a card and opened it.  The room was dark when we entered, the curtains closed. Irish released my hand and headed toward the huge window.  As he began opening the drapes, a huge bridge came into view.

I looked at Irish, “We’re in San Francisco?”

He grinned and nodded. 

“Oh hell,” was all I could
say. I walked to the huge picture window with its breathtaking view.

Irish came up
behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, whispering to me while resting his chin on my shoulder, “Just to clear this question up before you even ask, no, I’ve never brought another female here.”  I smiled and we stood there staring at the beautiful picture-postcard of San Francisco. Only moments passed when my stomach began to growl loudly. Irish laughed. Turning me around he asked, “Would you like to go out or have a meal brought to our room?” 

I didn’
t want to make that decision, so I asked him, “What do you want to do?”

He raised an eyebrow, giving me a wonderful Irish grin, “My vote would be to order in.”
 

“Sounds good to me,” I said turning
 back to look at the Golden Gate Bridge.

Befor
e I realized Irish was gone, I heard his voice calling me from the other room.  “Coming,” I said.

Irish was sitting on the
sofa so I sat next to him.  He was holding a menu from what I guessed was a restaurant here in the building. He handed it to me.  “I’m going to have a cheeseburger and fries,” he said.  “Get whatever looks good and I’ll call it in.” 

I
nodded, looking at the many choices. “I’m going to have what you’re having only with extra pickles.”

“Really?” he chuckled with the cutest grin, “y
ou’re one of those people.”

“What people?”
I smiled, rolling my eyes at him.

“Pickle junkies,” he said.  “
My sister orders so many pickles with her burgers she ends up having more pickles than beef.”  

I realized that this w
as the first time Irish had mentioned his sister.  “What’s her name?”

“Paris,”
he told me as he headed toward the phone to call in our order.

Paris
, I thought. So it must be Paris, London, Hayden, and Irish? I wasn’t sure if I had them in the right order, but at least I knew all of their names.

When Irish returned, standing in front of me
, he held out his hand.  “May I show you around, Miss Sampson?”  I laughed at him but took his hand. He showed me the kitchen and the library, then the extra powder room, as he called it. Then he led me to the master bedroom. We walked into a totally dark room. Irish left me standing in the doorway as he went to open the drapes.  As they slowly opened, the view was amazing. I silently walked to the window, looking out at the city.

“
What is this place, Irish?”

He plopped down on the bed while I stood at the window.  “Well we’re
leasing this condo until I can find a house.”

I looked at him.  “Live here in San Francisco?”

“Yes, I’
m going to move here for at least a year to help straighten out my dad’s company.”  He lay back now crossing his arms behind his head. “I’ve looked at several houses in the last month but picked two down by the water.  I’m just waiting for my dad to pick one.  Then I’ll be moving here permanently, or for a year anyway.”

My focus returned to the city. 
This sure wasn’t North Carolina
, I thought. I heard Irish pat the bed several times so I turned to see him lying on his side smiling. 

“
Come lie down with me for a few minutes.  Our food will be here soon,” he said. I lay down beside him and we were face to face.  He played with my hair pushing it off my face and behind my ear.  “Jurnee,” and he was speaking above a whisper, “I didn’t bring you here to sex you up as you call it,” and he chuckled, “I brought you here to spend time, so I didn’t have to share you with anyone else.”  He looked at me sincerely.  “I’ve dreamed of this moment for the last two years.”

I smiled back at him.
He’d dreamed of me for years, yet I didn’t know he existed until last Friday
, I thought. We lay there looking at each other until we heard the doorbell ring.

“That’s our food,”
he said rolling off the bed. I followed him and we sat on the sofa eating burgers. He left his burger for a moment and turned on some soft jazz. Before sitting down, he asked, “Do you approve of my music choice, Miss Sampson?”

I smiled, still chewing a
French fry. “Please call me Jurnee, Mr. Thompson,” I said, bending my hand toward him like a coy southern belle.

He chuckled.  “
Why thank you, ma’am.” Sitting there eating was really enjoyable, peaceful, and relaxing.

I could get used to this
, I thought. Our burgers had been delivered on a cart, on china with real silverware.  When we finished, Irish pushed the cart into the hallway as I returned to the picture window, gazing at the water.  It was mesmerizing.

From the other room I heard Irish doing something
in the kitchen and then he popped his head around the corner.  “Jurnee, please don’t take this the wrong way.  I’m not trying to get you all liquored up,” and I pictured his smile without actually seeing it, “but could I get you a glass of wine?”

Turning and smiling at him, I stared for a moment.  “
That would be wonderful, Irish, but I’d like it better if you’d join me.  I hate to drink alone.”

He grinned and
stood there looking at me for a moment. I watched him ball his fist and openly cover it with his other hand, looking nervous for a second, “What if I join you after I take a shower?” 

I slowly walked toward him
.  “A shower sounds refreshing.  Is it a roomy one?” 

“
Well Jurnee, it is a pretty good-sized shower,” and he lost his grin.

Placing both of my hands flat on his chest and leaning my face
as close to his as I could while still keeping eye contact, I asked, “Could two people fit comfortably in that shower, do you think?”  

The look on his face
made my heart speed up and I held my stare, waiting for him to answer. He reached for my hand. In his sexiest voice he said, “Maybe you should follow me and determine that for yourself.”

Chapter Seven

Irish left me in the bathroom to blow dry my hair while he went to get his robe for me to wear. When he returned, he wore a pair of cut-off sweat pants, no shirt. He gently kissed my forehead, while wrapping his robe around me. I dropped my towel and placed my arms in the sleeves.  “Are you ready for that drink?” He asked with the sweetest smile.

“That would be great.”
 

As he left the room
, I pressed my face into the sleeve of his robe carrying his scent. When I walked into the living room, Irish was sitting on the floor with his guitar in his lap, playing a song I didn’t recognize. Two glasses of Grand Marnier were sitting on the coffee table.

“What’re you playing?”
I asked as I sat down facing him.

“Just playing around,”
he said. For a moment my mind wandered to the dream I’d had and although I remembered Irish wearing a shirt, he now looked the way he had in my dream. I sat back and watched, marveling on how really great it felt to be here.  “Any requests?” he asked. In that moment he caught me off guard and I hoped I didn’t have some
girl-crush
look on my face, or worse, drool running down my chin.

“Play
your favorite song,” hoping to cover my incoherent moment.

“Okay,
let’s see,” he said gazing off.  “This would have to be one of my favorites,” as he began strumming his guitar. I listened closely watching his every move. I recognized “Wind beneath My Wings.”  I’d chosen it to be played at my parents’ funeral. Irish played it beautifully. If I’d heard that song played even a year after my parents passed away, it would’ve made me break down and cry.  In this moment it made me remember them both with respect and honor. They’d really been my heroes, and like my aunt so often reminded me, I was lucky to have them both in my life for twenty-one years. Irish finished the song and looked at me. 

“That was beautiful, thank you,”
I whispered. I moved from the sofa to the floor next to him. He rested his guitar on the sofa and wrapped one arm around me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“
Thank you for coming here with me, Jurnee,” and he gently kissed my forehead. He reached forward, took one of the glasses from the table and handed it to me. Then he reached for the other one, now turning his body toward me. He raised his glass and said, “I am...right now, the happiest man in San Francisco,” and he winked.

I raise
d my glass and tilted it toward his.  “I’m pretty happy myself,” and gave him my best smile. We took a drink and I was surprised at its pleasing taste.

Irish
 took a sip and set his glass back on the table.

We had both sat together sta
ring out at the beautiful view of the city. Irish broke the silence by saying, “Jurnee, may I ask you something personal?”

I felt a
smile cover my face, thinking about our sexual encounters over the past few days. 
What could he possibly want to know
, I thought.  I didn’t want to look at him until I was able to erase my smile.  “Ask me anything, Irish,” turning to face him. His expression was serious and caught me a little off guard. After moments of continued silence, I said, “Yes, I’ll make mad passionate love to you all night long if you insist,” giving him my sexiest wink.